I've Got These Little Things
by foxxandbeanz
Summary: Season 2.5 - Something to fill the void between now and October. Current canon applies. Picks up near the end of 2x23. Olicity at its core. I hope it gives you feels. Addendum:I think we can safely say we are moving away from canon. Will not necessarily include what we know to be true of season 3 going forward.
1. I've Got These Little Things

It was all over before dawn.

The battle, apparently years in the making, had seemed to rage endlessly one moment and then, in the blink of an eye, it was done. And hardly a word had been said, about any of it, leaving Laurel Lance little more than her imagination to fill in the blanks.

She and Sara sat together on salty wooden crates overlooking the harbour. Their father was currently going toe-to-toe with Nyssa al Ghul over his youngest daughter's safety and happiness while the latter's numerous assassins loaded the waiting ship. From that vantage point, the sisters could pretend the orange and red dancing on the water was the rising sun and not the many fires that still burned across the city. From street to sky, chaos left its mark, billowing ash and smoke making the unthinkable bloodshed and violence even harder to swallow.

Laurel knew, for tonight at least, they were safe. She knew there was a long road ahead for Starling City. She knew that Sara had to go. Holding her baby sister's hand as they waited for the inevitable, there was so much she wanted to know, wanted to ask. She wanted so badly to ask Sara where she'd be going and what she'd be doing, couldn't she stay? And so much more. Who was Shado? What had happened to her, Sara, and Ollie? What made Slade Wilson – Slade Wilson? Why couldn't Ollie take his eyes off Felicity . . . Smoak as he confronted Slade? Felicity Smoak. Laurel hadn't really even known her name before tonight. And now? Did she really hear what she thought she heard while in Slade's custody? How could Sara embrace the small bespectacled ubiquitous blonde as long and hard as she had Laurel herself? Her questions only grew more selfish from there.

Sara was looking up at her now, squeezing her hand. She raised a curious eyebrow at the crease between Laurel's brows, the orbs beneath dark and pleading.

"It's complicated." Sara would love to leave it at that. She let go of Laurel's hand.

"Sara?" There was shock in her voice that Laurel couldn't hide. "Big sister. Little sister," she gestured between them with her now free hand invoking their sacred bond. Sara's gaze averting to the bay and her deep war-prep inhale were all the answer she received. The sister part of Laurel was wounded but like always the lawyer part of her superseded finding another tactic.

"Do you know what I did when Slade told me about Ollie?" she started, knowing not to expect an answer from Sara. "What I'm good at. Research. Lots of research."

There was nothing notable in Sara's expression aside from subtle curiosity. Or was it amusement? "What did you find?"

Laurel decided it was amusement but she was grateful. At least Sara was looking at her again. In this moment, with the information that Laurel hadn't allowed herself to make full sense of on the tip of her tongue, she didn't want to be alone. Because what she had found was – "Her." It came out pointed, almost venomous. "I mean – that what Slade said was true. Ollie is . . . everything since he came back – it fit finally. But, there was her too. So much of her. She's with him. Everywhere. His office. His car. Charity events. Every paparazzi photo of him this past year. She's right there. She's . . . in his bar. And . . . . . . . under the bar. Tonight. She's with him." Laurel couldn't stop her voice from raising an octave and breaking. Something in her stomach, bile or maybe rapidly failing adrenaline, shifted, and an emotion nearing hysteria was creeping in on her. The one thing she had always known to be true about Ollie was now questionable.

"Yes." Sara's reply came finally, simply, and unapologetically.

Both familiar and foreign, the woman before Laurel had an ability to calm her with the same voice, the same eyes that she once used as an infuriating baby sister. And while Sara may have stopped her heart from racing, Laurel's mind was still reeling. "But why her? Who is she, Sara? I couldn't find any . . . anything."

Sara was almost smiling. Of course Laurel hadn't found anything. Felicity must have written a program to erase herself from all electronic records, just like she had done for Sara. Now, Laurel was pleading with her, confused and hurt from more than this evening's events. Secrets compounded over time to cause her sister's distress now and Sara realized how unfair it must seem but she struggled to find a satisfactory answer. Why Felicity Smoak?

"She's . . . " There were a lot of things Sara could say. Felicity was smart, funny, nonjudgmental, really really cute. Taking her sister's hand once more, she chose the thing she knew would surprise Laurel the most, would make the most impact. "She took a bullet for me."

"What?"

"And she thanked me for it." Sara's smile reached her eyes now. There was a light playing in them that Laurel sorely missed. It was clear; Sara had a real affection for Felicity Smoak as well. Even her father, the good detective, had looked as if he wanted to wrap Felicity Smoak in a fatherly hug earlier that night, but stopped himself. She had quietly trickled into the lives, the hearts, of everyone Laurel cared about while Laurel had wasted the better part of the past year at the bottom of one bottle or another, oblivious, blaming anyone but herself. She could feel some of that bubbling up again but it threatened to have a new target. Felicity Smoak was making her irrelevant.

"He's different with her," Sara wasn't done. She knew it was a never healing wound for Laurel that she was new to this other life they all lead but Sara only had so much time to make a case for her friend. Felicity stood with them. She wasn't an obstacle for Laurel to overcome whatever she may feel.

"I noticed," Laurel responded. And she had.

"He's different, Laurel," Sara persisted. Ollie was different from the boy they knew. Different from his island self. Different from her.

"I know." Laurel's voice had evened out but Sara wasn't as good at reading her as she used to be. She was really staring at her now trying to fit so many things into one look before she would have to leave again. Laurel seemed to pick up on some small piece. "Last year he was . . . "

"The Vigilante," Sara offered the kindest definition.

"After Tommy though . . . the Dollmaker, Sebastian Blood, Helena Bertinelli . . . he didn't. There was only one. He . . . he killed Count Vertigo. For her."

"Laur, I don't think it was like-"maybe Laurel had picked up a bigger piece than Sara thought.

She cut her off, her mind answering the questions while she still spoke with mild disbelief. "Slade Wilson took me, Sara. He was so sure. But Ollie stayed away. It wasn't until his blade was at _her_ throat that Ollie showed up."

"Oliver."

"What?"

Sara realized now. "He's not really Ollie anymore. Oliver." The way Digg and Felicity said it with trust and conviction. It meant something. No abbreviation.

"Not with her," quietly, almost sarcastically. Laurel wasn't yet convinced.

"She's earned her place," Sara tried bluntness.

"So, she's with him?" Laurel tried again. The thing she most needed to know.

Sara looked out to the bay. One more reflected ball of fire was dancing its way from waves to sky now. "It's complicated."


	2. Ready to Start

**A/N: All of your favorites, follows, and reviews hastened the process on chapter two. Probably your plan all along, you sneaky bastards. But seriously, thank you. Chapter three will take a little longer so don't even try buttering me up. For now, your reward sirs . . . **

"It's not easily accessible. At least not like the Foundry."

Felicity wasn't sure when she had started thinking tactically, but somewhere between finding Oliver Queen bleeding out in the backseat of her car and moving equipment into the new Arrow Cave, it had become a habit like constantly looking over her shoulder, triple checking her locks at night, being afraid of men with eye patches, and the counting.

Eleven days ago, Slade Wilson had set Starling City on fire. Correction, eleven days ago, they had saved the city, together.

Ten days ago, they were on what felt like a never ending plane ride.

Nine days ago, they left Slade Wilson ranting in a cell on Landmine Island.

Eight days, ago Oliver went back to patrolling the once again ravaged streets, stringing up looters and rapists and other petty criminals all too willing to take advantage of their broken city.

Seven days ago, Oliver had plans to put his fist through a wall after Roy told him Thea had still been in the city during the attack. Felicity's hand on his elbow calmed him, somewhat.

Six days ago, Digg made Oliver take a break, donning the hood himself with Roy as backup, insisting that Oliver wouldn't be any good to Starling if he didn't let his knee heal properly. Now there was uneven pattern of much begrudged turn-taking.

Five days ago, Felicity lied to Roy, again, when he asked about Oliver's knee.

Four days ago, Oliver finally let her go to Verdant with them to help salvage gear and sadly very, very little tech.

Three days ago, they found a perfectly harmless but completely terrifying hobo sleeping under the stairs at the Foundry, and Oliver used his loud voice to tell her she wasn't allowed to go back there.

Two days ago, she tried to visit Detective Lance at the hospital only to be turned away. He was still in the ICU.

One day ago, Digg delivered a mismatched collection of visibly not new computer equipment to their new HQ. And the counting was the only way Felicity was able to keep track of the days anymore. Eleven seemed both too few and too many given, well, everything.

Thirty minutes ago, she had starting rambling while trying to make something of the wires, towers, and monitors strewn across the table in front of her. Oliver, seemingly consumed in a task involving a box full of arrowheads sitting just three feet away, hadn't said a word to stop her. She knew he had more than enough on his mind, but talking was to Felicity as brooding was to Oliver. They were both hopeless.

"Is there even another way out of here? And what about these ceilings? I don't think they're high enough for the salmon ladder. Can you even salvage the salmon ladder? It's probably permanently stuck under Verdant. Unemployed and no salmon ladder. What will I – you do all day? You can't just sit here in this cold, clammy, beige colored hole. Wow. It really is like a cave. Complete with caveman computers. Ugh. Not that I'm not grateful. I am. Grateful. Lyla didn't have to – _borrow_ these from ARGUS. But most of them need to be completely rebuilt which, yes, I can pretty much do in my sleep. I don't even mind sacrificing tiny pieces of my soul to the greater good. Even you can tell some of these are older than Roy. Oliver? Where has Roy been sleeping?"

Oliver blinked back to awareness at the sudden silence. Felicity had stopped talking, to take a breath he hoped. And he was all too aware that he had taken refuge in the sound of her voice. It echoed more against these concrete walls instead of floating upward and dissolving before it had reached the apex under Verdant. But he relied on it more now. He wrapped himself in it. Like when he stumbled in after a long night, peeled off the hood, and pulled on his sweatshirt. It was a comfort, a reassurance that he shouldn't indulge. Not when it could cost them both. Not when he had so much to do. So much and no idea where to start, again. Square one, again.

Like so many times of late, Felicity had put him at ease, enough to think aloud. "We could go back to the list? Same corrupt elite are still profiting from the chaos." He couldn't help grinding his teeth just a little as he extended his bad leg, stretching out the stiffness that had quickly set in. He knew Felicity was listening. She was looking right at him with her serious face boring down on him until she was sure she had truly captured his attention. She stepped closer, hands poised to make a point. She lowered her voice.

"Where is Roy sleeping?" It was the second time she had asked that.

"Felicity, I have no ide-" He stopped himself sucking in his bottom lip, biting down on it with a nod. She already knew that. Her hands moved to her hips as he rose up so they were toe to toe. Her eyebrows were arched expectantly.

He looked at Roy and Diggle at the other end of the room. They were attempting to set up the med-bay. Diggle watching in amusement as Roy tried to tap into any residual super strength to bend the metal legs of the gurney back into shape.

"You could try telekinesis." Digg offered.

"You could _try_," Roy countered.

Almost smiling, Oliver looked back at Felicity her eyes begging him to see something. Felicity, Digg, Roy. They were all still here. They were still a team. His team. His responsibility. They had all been dealing the best they could but their collective frayed edges were starting to show. She wasn't straightening her hair or painting her nails. Diggle was unshaven for the first time since Oliver had met him. Roy didn't have any product in his hair, and of course there were the dark half-moons under his eyes, too. All their eyes. _Okay, Felicity. You win._ He thought.

He leaned in so Felicity couldn't see the smirk as he whispered, "Take Roy home with you," in an almost Arrow-like timbre.

Her voice caught just half a breath in her throat. "Excuse me?"

"Ask him to stay with you." _I win too._ She stared blankly back at him. "You have a couch. I don't."

She about winced. "Sorry."

"Please?" He rested a hand on her shoulder but it wasn't quite the gesture it was before. It used to be right. Now, it was too much. Or maybe not enough. It was confusing. But Felicity never pulled away.

"Okay." She agreed. And smiled, the smug smile of self-satisfaction adding, "Because you're right. We should take care of each other first." With that she was happy to turn back to her pile of computer guts. When she started humming he knew she was safely ensconced in her own world. _Remarkable._ Then, he crossed the room to Roy and Digg.

"Harper!" Making Roy jump was one of the small joys Oliver consciously allowed himself.

"Boss?" Since he'd woken up, Roy was the picture of obedience, though keeping his many street charms. Oliver hadn't expected it but he appreciated it.

"Felicity needs to ask you something. Say yes." For the time being, it made things a little easier. Roy simply nodded and walked toward their IT girl. Oliver heard him drawl a "Hey, Barbie." He was sure Felicity would put an end to that, soon.

And now Oliver got to be the smug one. His self-congratulations cut short by Diggle's all-seeing, all-knowing expression. Oliver tried to look innocent which had been a hard sell pretty much since birth. "Roy needs a place to stay," he shrugged.

"What do you get out of it?"

"Roy. Gets a place to stay." He was not playing into Digg's hand today.

"Right."

"Let's get back to work."


	3. Tell Me You Know

"Felicity, I'm telling you, it's not working," Oliver's voice came out rough, on the verge of frustration.

"Did you press the button?"

"Felicity." He had taken her suggestion of a test run for the new comms literally. That was forty-five minutes and almost ten miles ago.

He couldn't sit in that cave with Diggle watching his every move another second. Especially because his every move today left his eyes on Felicity, the way the curve of her ponytail brushed the curve of her neck, the way her low heeled ankle boots showed off her calves, the way she laughed out loud at whatever thoughts it was she managed to keep inside her head. It left him itching to say things he knew he shouldn't and do things he couldn't easily take back.

Now he was pacing an alleyway between two buildings downtown about ready to scale the side of the taller one in broad daylight, people passing by in skirts and suits on the sidewalk ten feet away, wondering how he had so epically lost control.

He took a deep breath. "On. Off. Mute. Volume. No change." It wasn't her he was frustrated with.

"I'll just do it on my end. Push your buttons. Mute the comm," she may have been a little frustrated with him and his chuckle didn't help. "I'm muting it now," she said. And then for a brief moment there was nothing. He stopped pacing, letting his eyelids drop, bringing fingertips to his forehead. Then – "Once upon a time, there was a technologically impaired, ex-billionaire prince named Oliver."

"I heard that."

"Yeah, I don't think they're working. Come back. I'll take them apart. Again." Even Felicity was starting to despise technology. Every day it seemed there was something else cracked, corrupted, or otherwise incompatible – things the Oliver Queen of two months ago had only to snap his fingers to cure.

"Felicity, I told you, order the new ones. I'm not completely destitute. You made sure of it."

What she had done was syphon funds from QC, the Queen Estate, several of their unsavory foes, and even Isabel Rochev depositing it all into a ghost account. Not much, a cushion. A pin-cushion. The Arrow Emergency Fund. And, to his mind, the only truly dishonest thing she had ever done. So, naturally, she wouldn't touch a penny of it for her own benefit.

"And I told you, we don't need to spend money on things that I am perfectly capable of fixing. I know that capability seems questionable right now but it's been scientifically proven that moving is among the most stressful life events. I still haven't gotten my chair back to the right height," Felicity was still capable of using fifty words when one would do the job.

"Fine. I'm buying lunch," there was almost a growl in his tone, but even without it, he knew Felicity would give him that small concession, especially when she found out what he had to offer. "I passed the taco truck half a dozen times already."

"Fine. Don't forget the guacamole."

Oliver didn't have to see the sparkle in her eyes to know it was there. He made his way back to the sidewalk and turned in the direction he had last seen the culinary marvel on wheels realizing a smile had appeared on his lips too. "Never again. Not after last time. You nearly took-" Someone stepped in front of him on the sidewalk effectively blocking his way and his words.

"Ollie?"

"Laurel?" It wasn't really a question, more a general shock. Laurel had been pretty scarce since the Slade Incident with good reason he now remembered. "I – How's your father?"

She seemed surprised too, and relieved. "Much better. He's made a lot of progress the last few days. He'll be able to go home soon." Sobriety looked good on her – less makeup, fewer rings, a healthy fullness in her cheeks again. For once she wasn't wearing one of those mind boggling business suits. "They're talking about commendations and promotion."

"Good. That's – he deserves them." Oliver meant it. There were enough causalities in his ledger already. And, Detective Lance, in spite of everything, was a good ally. A good man.

"The city should be giving you awards," Laurel said it with surety but even her carefully honed conviction couldn't make it true.

"No. They shouldn't." All the reasons why flashed through Oliver's mind. Everything she could never know, he recollected so easily it was a mere two seconds of torture playing just behind his eyes. Then, he saw her before him, shifting, hesitating knowing she didn't come by either honestly. He studied her a little harder than he should, harder than he'd ever had to.

"I'm sorry, Oliver."

"For what?"

She could see the old Oliver ghost across his features – confused, sweet, and unknowingly worthy. "I think I overstepped. Before, coming to you where I didn't belong, yelling and preaching as if one piece of ill-gotten knowledge meant that I still knew everything about you, knowing our history would still hold sway. It was selfish. And it wasn't what you needed. Not really."

Oliver could see it as she spoke, how it was she always won people over. Simple sincerity. She always meant exactly what she said. He was waking up now to the tunnel vision it created. "I'm glad." And in that realization, the blackness at his periphery started to fade, the people passing by them and the city spreading out beyond becoming clearer. His mind becoming clearer finally.

"I am glad that you know the truth Laurel. You are the only person left from my life before. I need you to see who I am now. And I need you to understand – I can't bring someone else into this."

He paused letting her take it in, but not for long. There was more he needed to say, and difficult as it was, he felt he better say it all at once. "For years, we've been holding on to shadows of each other. I just think for us to become the people we're both meant to be, we have to let go."

There it was.

Oliver found himself standing completely still, an inability to move rather than an unwillingness. He could feel a tightness growing in his chest as he looked down at Laurel unable to do anything else. Her eyes were as soft and warm as ever. The corner of her mouth upturned slightly. With a rush of relief, he realized he'd been holding his breath and it came out with something nearing a laugh. "Wow, uh, that was kind of intense."

A full smile broke on Laurel's face and she laughed too, truly. "Well, it is the first time you've broken up with someone."

"Hey!" Oliver feigned hurt but was becoming calmer and surer of his choice.

Laurel reached for his arm as her chuckle faded but her smile remained. "Ollie. Oliver, I understand. And, you will be – the person you're meant to be, probably before you know it."

He let her hand slide down his forearm but caught it in his before she pulled away. "Thank you."

She gave him a nod of acknowledgement and slipped her fingers from his grasp. "We'll figure it out. How to be a part of each other's lives when the time is right."

She wasn't sure she could have done what Oliver just had. Still believing her courage only went so far. But he was right; they couldn't move ahead and still be so involved. Not now. She could take that step back but there was something else eating at her. A tiny twinge of guilt, she supposed, that had been since Sara had left.

"Tell Felicity, I'm sorry. I think I've been kind of a bitch to her." She could admit it. She had been rude and dismissive and it had started even before the drinking the first time she had seen her at Verdant and assumed she was some cheap fling, some Oliver Queen groupie.

Oliver tilted his head at her, a little confused and little apologetic. "Laurel, she's not-"

"I know," she cut him off. He didn't owe her an explanation. And she did know. Felicity Smoak was not the reason they couldn't be in each other's lives right now. Not the main one anyway. Certainly not the reason Oliver told himself. Laurel was sure of that.

"You could talk to her yourself. You'd like her."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Ollie." She started to back away still looking at Oliver, some kind of amusement painted on his face. She didn't say goodbye. She just smiled and nodded again before sweeping past his shoulder and on down the sidewalk behind him.

He didn't look back at her. He just started walking, focused on what lay ahead. After about a block, he broke the silence.

"This has to be some kind of record. Ten whole minutes with nothing to say?"

Felicity's choking gasp came through the comm, a mortified tone in her voice that Oliver was very familiar with, "I am so sorry, Oliver."

"Don't be." He'd never forgotten she was there. He didn't even care that she had basically been eavesdropping.

"I'm going to order the new ones," she was so embarrassed she'd skipped right over the stammering stage and gone straight to decisive corrective action.

"Don't. I like these."


	4. Sleep Alone

"Felicity? Why are you doing this?"

"Oliver, please stop squirming. You're just making this harder." She paused to push windblown strands of her golden hair away from her eyes before continuing a ways up the beach. The sand was dark, wet, and hard packed. Her bare feet left perfect imprints in her wake. The hem of her white cotton dress tickled the back of her legs just above her knees when the wind blew in from the ocean. And a few fading rays of sunlight warmed her shoulders.

Felicity tried to take another step forward but was jolted back nearly losing her footing. At the same time there was slicing burn across the soft skin of her palm. She gripped the rope tighter in her hand and turned to glare at the rock impeding her progress. "Oliver!"

He glared back, unwilling to take another step.

Felicity followed the rope with her hands, gathering it as she went, until she came to the large textbook knots that bound his wrists together. "Fine," she growled stepping behind him. Then, she cruelly thrust her knee deep into the back of his still healing leg. Oliver groaned loudly as his knees hit the unwelcoming sand. His elbows kept him from getting a face full of the stuff. The hood of his vigilante leather fell over his eyes in the ordeal and remained there as he pulled himself up.

Now, Felicity took advantage of his position to twist and knot the rest of the rope around his ankles with great precision. When she finished, she yanked the green hood back. Oliver was staring once again at the familiar tree line of Lian Yu.

"Felicity, what are we doing here?" Oliver was calm, his voice as level as ever.

She found she couldn't look at him, not when he refused to even be angry with her. She inhaled slowly, closing her eyes and not opening them again until she had expelled the breath from her lungs.

"I need you to stay here," she finally replied. She immediately turned back toward the water. Dragging this out was the last thing she wanted. She made it a couple unsure strides but she could hear him methodically turning himself in her direction. She knew it was unkind but the rope was a necessity that wouldn't hold him long. She couldn't believe she'd gotten him this far.

"Felicity. Please?"

There it was. The word he rarely used. It shouldn't sway her but she bit her tongue trying to ebb her emotions. And she turned around. She really shouldn't have left him on his knees like that. It only helped the pleading pouring from his face. His stupid handsome face.

Felicity licked her lips, lingering a bite on the bottom one, and walked back. She knelt in front of him, too few inches separating them, so that he could look down at her like always. A tear escaped her eye feeling cool against her increasingly hot face. And she brought her delicate hands up to the rough contrast of his cheeks.

He closed his eyes leaning lightly into her palms. "Don't do this."

"I can't let this happen again. I have to protect myself." She felt more desperate with each word.

He opened his eyes to search her face. "I can protect you," but he hadn't figured it out yet.

He was adorably slow that way sometimes. And for a second Felicity thought there might be another way. Maybe if they stayed here together. It wouldn't be so bad.

"Felicity, I lov-"

"No!" Both her hands moved to cover his mouth. No. She would just end up alone. On an island. But Oliver was looking at her like she'd slapped him across the face. She had to make him understand. She moved her hands away from his mouth and pulled the mask away from his eyes. "I can't let you say that Oliver. People who – you have to stay here where you can never say it and you can never leave me." In a last ditch effort to keep him silent, she shoved the mask in his mouth. She stood up almost ready to go. "It's okay. I can be the villain here. You need to be the hero."

She'd given him all she could. Anything more was too great a risk. Running toward the incoming waves toward her row boat felt like running for her life. She thought about letting the ocean just swallow her up but found she was pushing the boat away from the beach and climbing inside. When she turned around Oliver had already freed himself and was running after her but he was getting smaller and smaller. She could still hear him though, screaming her name with everything he had. And she felt like she might be sick.

The last thing she heard as she faded into the fiery horizon was his begging question, "Don't you love me?!"

_Do I love Oliver? Do I love Oliver? Is that a whale? Is it going to swallow the boat? Oh my god, I think it's going to swallow the boat! When did I become Pinocchio? Oh. I get it. This is a dr-_

Felicity's eyes flew open but she was paralyzed still riding the fear of her dream. She took in jagged breathes at first. When she finally felt like she could move she realized she was shaking. And she didn't know how long she'd been crying, the tears having fallen so silently. She balled her hands into fists and held her breath for as long as she could trying to slow her heart. However, just as Felicity turned onto her side resolved to forget through sleep, her phone starting buzzing wildly on the bedside table.

She didn't recognize the number. The area code looked like Coast City. Always answer. That was her rule right? Even if Oliver refused to follow it. She swallowed hard hoping she would find her voice in all the phlegm. "Hello?"

Felicity heard a gulp on the other end. "Uh, yeah, is this Felicity?"

Young. Female. Not Thea. "It is."

"Sorry. I didn't know who to – Sara's gone. Thea won't answer. And Roy, is Roy dead?"

"Sin?" Felicity had never actually met the girl but it had to be her.

"Yes. Sara gave me your number. In case. I'm sorry, I don't have anyone else," she admitted. And Felicity could hear her struggle with that even over the phone. She knew what that was like.

"No, it's okay. Are you okay? Oh! Roy's not dead. He's fine. He's snoring. Because he lives on my couch now. Are you okay?"

"Abercrombie's not dead, huh?"

"Sin?" Felicity instantly felt responsible for this girl. There was plenty cause for concern when her closest friends were an assassin and an ex-Mirakuru junky. Sara had given Sin her number. That was reason enough for Felicity to care.

"I'm okay. I just – I mean, would you come get me? I want to come home."

There was something so lonely and tiny in Sin's voice that Felicity didn't hesitate. "Of course. Tell me exactly where you are. I'll wake up Roy. We'll come right now, if you want?"

"Really?" Even after Sara and Roy, Sin still wasn't used to people simply coming through because you asked.

"Really." Felicity sat all the way up and threw off her blanket. "I'm getting dressed. Text me the details. I'll let you know when we're in the car." She found that she was eager to distract herself but more so to help. _This is what we do_, she thought.

"Felicity? Thank you."

"It's nothing. I'm glad you called." Felicity hung up, threw on yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and pulled her hair back before she walked out into the living room. "Roy?"

That was all it took. He bolted upright, red hoodie never even taken off, hair spiking in every direction, not bothering to open his eyes yet. "Yeah? I'm up. Where're we goin'?"


	5. Loaded

Oliver started down the stairs late in the afternoon.

He still didn't know what to call this place. The Foundry had been easy and poetic actually. This new base was under an old slaughterhouse, if the records were correct. The Slaughterhouse. They really couldn't call it that. And Oliver refused to give in to Felicity and Roy's insistence on calling it the Arrow Cave. He couldn't take himself seriously operating out of an Arrow Cave. Should he take himself seriously? He wasn't only conducting Arrow business here. He was eating, sleeping, breathing day in and day out in his cave.

It wasn't the loss of luxury that bothered him but the fact that it all felt so familiar. It felt like the past.

At the bottom of the steps, Oliver turned into the long space expecting to be met by Roy's wisecracks and Felicity's warm smile. Only Diggle was there, taping up his hands, preparing to go a few rounds with the punching bag or the training dummy.

Oliver didn't bother with a greeting. "Seen Felicity? I haven't heard from her all day," he walked across the room toward her computers. Sleeping like babies.

He could almost hear Digg smiling through his reply, "She's in Coast City." He loved to know something Oliver didn't, it being so rare.

_Coast City?_ _Without a word? _Oliver turned half a step, his face in profile to Diggle, one brow rising. "Why?"

Diggle was definitely smiling now. "Relax. Her guard dog went with her."

_Coast City. With Roy. _It wasn't an answer. "Why?" Oliver ground out, fully concerned now, turning to fix his gaze on Digg. His fingers clenched into fists involuntarily and he had to concentrate to flex them back out.

Looking at his friend, Digg's smile faded, the lines of his face softening to sincerity. "Roy's friend - Cindy? They went to pick her up."

The tension lessened in Oliver's arms but the concern remained. Roy's friend was Sara and Thea's friend as well. "She okay?"

Digg gave a nod. "Homesick and broke, but okay. She ended up on one of the evacuation busses the morning after the attack. A few schools and churches along the coast took people in but I guess the hospitality's dried up. They were already on their way when Felicity called this morning. I told her to take her time."

Oliver only gave Digg's story half a second of thought before replying with a sound, "Good." The half second spent on why Felicity had called Diggle but not him.

"Good?" That had John interested.

Oliver was already moving toward the table newly designated for his equipment, pondering to himself if he should take the hood or not. "Good. There are some – strange – reports coming out of Central City. I'm heading out there. I need to know what's going on, preferably before Felicity hears about it." If she thought for a second Barry Allen was involved, Oliver knew she'd be on the first train. Oliver knew he would feel a lot better if he could keep her out of it for once. Not that keeping her out of anything was something he had had any luck with since the day they'd met.

He tossed a few things in a duffle bag, glancing around the room for his motorcycle helmet about ready to go when he realized Digg hadn't said anything and he hadn't started his workout. In fact, he hadn't moved since Oliver came in save to tuck the last bits of white tape around his fingers. And Oliver saw now the hard look set across Digg's features, something between scrutiny and friendly concern. Determination.

"Can it wait five minutes?"

Oliver always appreciated the steady timbre of Diggle's voice, if not always the questions it begged. None the less, Oliver almost mockingly smiled, lifted his wrist to look at his watch, set his bag on the floor, and leaned back against his table crossing first his ankles, then his arms across his chest letting out a semi amused sigh.

"Are you gonna tell that girl the truth?" Digg's words came purposely like an accusation, while Oliver's guard was down, no question of which girl he was talking about, and Oliver's amusement dropped heavily.

He straightened up, ready to walk out. "I thought we were going to talk about you, John."

Then Digg did as Digg rarely did. "Dammit, Oliver!" He raised his voice.

He came toward Oliver, towering in front of him, certainly the more formidable looking man. And the look in his eye, the one he kept in reserve for special occasions, made Oliver take a step back. He put his hands up in front of him in surrender. Nothing about Diggle's reaction was wrong and it was no less than Felicity deserved. But Oliver wouldn't speak first. He didn't even know what words to say.

Now, Digg eased up. His shoulders lowered and so it seemed did his heels. Looking more like a friend Digg started again. "Neither one of you is telling me the whole story." Par for the course where Oliver was concerned, but not Felicity. John had grown used to being her confidant. "And you're both acting . . . differently." He spent more than two years now watching. They were his friends and his family. And it wasn't a boast when he regularly told Lyla that he knew Oliver and Felicity better than they knew themselves, that their mutual stubbornness and blindness would be their undoing. But something had changed.

Oliver looked at him expectantly and Digg knew he would have to lead him every begrudging step of the way down this path. "She's calm. She is in control. And you are-"

"I'm what?" Oliver spoke defensively, borderline angrily. He knew exactly what he was. He could feel it. It was like feeling every individual blood vessel as they swam and shimmied through his veins every second of the day.

"You're all over the place man." Digg said it for him. He could see it from the minute he boarded the plane to Lian Yu with him. As the Arrow he was sure and he was justified. He had earned his place protecting his city. His Oliver Queen, however, was starting to look like an ordinary man. His carefully honed control, the mask he always wore was slipping. What used to be guarded glances of longing, lust, amusement toward their girl Friday were now frequent stares that quickly turned conflicted. The walls Oliver put up to protect them all were more like curtains now. And Diggle had been observing for weeks trying to decide how strong a wind he wanted to be. He could cause damage too. Damage that might be better left for another day. "Oliver-"

"She's not some girl, John." Oliver sank back against the metal table his hands gripping the edge even as he tried to let go. "And I have been a foolish, selfish man. I thought I was being so careful, keeping her at arm's length. I never . . . " Oliver shook his head at his own crimes. Diggle hadn't always seen Oliver's restraint for what it was, not the bulk of that first year when he was consumed with Deadshot and just keeping Oliver alive. It was all different after Tommy.

"I've never offered to take her home. I never stick around to comfort her. I walk away. She gets kidnapped. And shot. And held at the mercy of madmen," Oliver quietly railed, his voice thick, his eyes swimming in unspillable tears. Diggle knew he was reliving every tortuous second, frustrations he'd never shown before now mounting. "And all I want to do is – Do you know I can count on one hand the times I've put more than five fingers on her and it wasn't to save her life? Situations I put her in. What kind of man am I, John? Cause, God help me, it's getting harder and harder to focus on keeping her at a safe distance."

He was looking up at Digg finally, all anguish and fear begging for an easy answer. Digg didn't have any of those. "Felicity isn't going anywhere. She's been pretty clear about that." _Just in case you were thinking about pushing her away_. Digg assumed it was his first thought.

"I think I can wrap my head around the physical danger, now. Because she isn't going anywhere. She's already standing next to me. All the time. In the line of fire. But putting these feelings out there too? It's putting another weapon out there. It's like throwing a loaded gun on the ground. Anyone could pick it up." Letting go of the table finally, Oliver stood to pace a small space next to Digg. He'd given in to the shock of revelation long enough.

And he'd finally given Digg something he could work with. "So your solution is what, man? Never say anything. Stand by while she moves on? Be alone for the rest of your life. Never be happy?"

Oliver's laugh vibrated off the walls momentarily stupefying Diggle. "I've had this conversation before. With Tommy," he explained. "I told him, me being happy wasn't important."

"Did he buy that?"

"He felt sorry for me, Digg." Oliver could remember the look on Tommy's face clearly. "I didn't think it was in the cards for me. I wasn't – I'm still not."

Digg made sure to catch Oliver's eye. "Oliver, you don't have to be perfect. You don't have to save everyone, fix everything to deserve this." Digg needed to believe that as much for his friend as he did for himself.

Oliver turned and picked up his bow from the table, holding the grip, turning his wrist so the strings just rested against his forearm, feeling the perfect balance. "I can't think of a single thing I've done to deserve her." He turned his wrist again setting the bow down.

"You don't get to decide that, Oliver." Digg didn't exactly argue with him.

"She sees the hero. The Arrow. One bad night and that guy goes away. What's left? I'm barely Oliver Queen now. That's not a man Felicity should love." It was the first thing Oliver had said that Digg thought he might truly believe.

So Digg got in his face again puffing out his chest and jamming his pointed index finger just below Oliver's clavicle. He saw Oliver stiffen up, fighting his instincts. "She sees you. The good. And the bad. And she comes back here every day more convinced you are the man she believes in. Trust that."

Oliver stumbled backward over his own feet, one hand scrapping over his skull as the other grasped onto the first thing within reach. Felicity's desk chair. His breathing was fast and shallow. He was left more unbalanced by this conversation than some of his alter ego's duels.

Digg needed him to admit that. "You can't keep going like this."

"I know, John!"

"What are you gonna do about it, Oliver?"

Oliver tilted his head in a still fuming stare before righting himself. He closed his eyes, making the decision and opened them nodding.

Diggle read his mind. "It's always a risk, Oliver."

His partner nodded again, his jaw setting into a firm line.

"But she's not some girl. She's the woman you love." Digg added just a little more advice. "Nobody's saying you have to tell the whole world."

The last of Oliver's tension came out in a huff. Digg came toward him with an extended hand and Oliver took the peace offering only to feel Digg's grip tighten around his hand with bone crushing pressure and pull him closer. Cheek to cheek with Oliver, a dark glint in his eye, Digg had only one thing left to say. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you."

Oliver was glad to hear it. "Good." Digg's grip turned friendly and then released him. There was nothing left for Oliver to do but pick up his bag, again.

Digg's smile had returned. "Central City?"

"Central City." Oliver confirmed as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to examine the text. "Or maybe not. Central City's coming to us."

Digg was already by the punching bag, fists at the ready. "You want backup?"

Oliver smiled now too. "I think I can handle Barry Allen."

He reached for the hood.


	6. Invincible

Felicity's hand was raised, fingers curled in to the creases of her palm but she punked on the knock.

Instead her hand came down to smooth her top, the one she now realized with a cringe she'd been wearing for almost two days. Immediately, both hands came up to check her ponytail, she tucked in a wayward strand, and adjust her glasses glad there was no shortage of lipstick choices in her center console. "You can do this. You can do this. No big deal. Just regular people. Extremely gorgeous people-"

"Look Blondie, if you're gonna wig out, can't I just stay with you and Harper?"

Felicity's head shot to the side, reawakened to the tiny black-haired refugee already trying to get away. Her pale pink nails closed around the lapel of Sin's leather jacket and yanked her back to her side. Hesitation gone, she knocked on the door. "No."

No. That option was never on the table, too many variables, the odd hours they kept and the quickly shrinking apartment just two of them. Though Felicity recognized a smart girl when she saw one and highly suspected Sin knew more than she would ever let on. She was quiet, almost withdrawn, when they found her, completely out of place on a Coast City beach in her jacket and boots, but the opportunity to hassle and heckle Roy had brought her back to life, well that and a very large stack of pancakes. Sin was lucky. There were so many people who wanted to look out for her. But Felicity knew there was one place she belonged. So, she was standing in the hallway of Laurel Lance's apartment building in basically her pajamas waiting with rising bile for the door to open.

By the time Felicity heard the tell-tale unlocking, it dawned on her that she had no idea what she was going to say. Her eyes averted to the floor but then she was staring at Laurel's bare feet. Looking up was no better, Felicity couldn't make the transition fast enough to avoid Gorgeous Laurel's stupid leggy legs. Even her hair fell over her shoulders in sun kissed, beachy waves enhancing her giant, sleepy, Bambi eyes. _Frak me. Is that mascara?_ All in all, she looked like a damn Amazon in booty shorts. And Felicity's mouth was doing that thing where it opened and closed without producing any sounds.

"You got a bathroom?" Not waiting for a reply, Sin passed between them, pinching Felicity's arm hard as she went, and slipped past Laurel without resistance, disappearing.

"Owww-Wow. It's really early isn't it? I'm sorry. I should have brought coffee. Or bagels! You drink coffee, right? Of course, you do. But you're not one of those skinny vanilla latte girls. You're more like a venti Americano. Extra shot. Black. Oliver thinks he's black coffee but that man cannot handle his caffeine. I give him half-caff with like half a Raw-Sugar. He's high strung enough already. You'd think with that metabolism but he just gets more _grrr_ with the chin-ups and the sweaty and the sex- Somebody usually stops me by now!" The last bit came out in mortified exasperation. The seconds of silence that followed seemed to Felicity to last longer than her entire spectacular tangent.

Laurel tried to recover from the morning non-candy gram but her eyes grew wider, defying laws of nature, as worst case scenarios flipped her heart and her stomach. Why else would Felicity Smoak be on her doorstep? "What's wrong? Is it my sister? Is she okay?" She checked her emotion, each question coming out slowly, deliberately not wanting to excite the witness and incite another diatribe on coffee or breakfast pastries.

"Oh," it hadn't occurred to Felicity that that was the first place Laurel's mind would go. She didn't know anything about Laurel's mind. Now she felt guilty not just for turning up so early but for making the other woman worry. "Oh no. Sara is fine. She's probably great even." Felicity stopped herself this time, counting down from ten in her head. She'd had to up the number recently.

"Then what are you doing here, Felicity?" Laurel interrupted at four, not with any cruelty subtle or otherwise, though Felicity's name fell uneasily from her lips and the oddness of the sound wasn't lost on either of them.

"Actually, it is about Sara. Sort of," the last bit came out with half a question mark at the end leaving Felicity feeling it would have been so much easier to drop the baby on the doorstep and run, easier if not entirely adult. "Yeah." Felicity continued answering her own question. "She kind of left you that loveable slightly curmudgeon-y street urchin."

Right on cue, Sin crossed into view holding an open cereal box in one hand while the other shoved sugary, rainbow hoops into her mouth. Hearing the crunch, Laurel turned, Felicity left only to imagine the look on the lawyer's face. With her cheeks nearly bursting, Sin managed a, "Sorry." She kicked off her sandy boots, leaving them in the middle of the entryway, revealing rather shockingly girly striped socks, and then she was out of sight again, making herself at home Felicity assumed with a smirk.

Laurel turned back to Felicity with an understandably puzzled expression. As far as she knew, her sister had left her with a leather jacket and the knowledge that she was alive and safe. Laurel hadn't expected or needed anything else. Not now.

Felicity kept her voice low now. "I don't know the whole story. What I do know is that Sara cared about her. They took care of each other when they had no one else. So, she's kind of in the market for a big sister."

All Laurel could think of was the disastrous year she'd had, all the havoc of her own creation that she had barely survived. Being properly responsible for herself had just become normal again. "I don't think-"

"I think," Felicity cut in, trying hard to soften her eyes and her words, "Sara would want you to have each other." It wasn't a line. Felicity knew. Sara would want her sisters together. They deserved a chance to not be alone.

Fighting hard against her nature, Felicity kept quiet letting Laurel digest, hoping she had put the right amount of weight behind her words, hoping Sara had given her sister at least a tiny reason to trust her. Shifting from one foot to the other, then back, Felicity waited for some look of acceptance to grace Laurel's face. She was sinking her teeth into her own tongue, rather aggressively, when something like a smile started on Laurel's lips. Something was all Felicity needed. She smiled lightly herself.

"She'll probably give you more than one unflattering nickname. And she'll bust your chops over just about anything. So be prepared. But she's actually kind of sweet. Also, she says she's eighteen but it's a lie. I can whip something up in the way of guardianship papers if you want? Back date it, slip it into the public records. This is something I should not have just said to the brand new DA, a government appointed official for truth and justice."

Laurel's arm was half raised on its way to place a reassuring touch to Felicity's shoulder. She caught it, still sticking out in front of her, fingers spread, her very own stop sign. "No, Felicity. It's okay. My world," she gave a sigh that was akin to a laugh, "is not as black and white as it used to be."

Felicity believed her but quickly changed the subject to one she knew they could agree on. "I'm glad your father is doing better. I tried to visit."

"I know. I'm sorry. All the visitors had to be approved and the hospital was crawling with SCPD the whole time. I didn't want to risk exposing you or Oliver." Laurel said it and his name landed heavily between them. They had successfully avoided him this long. They could ignore him a little longer. But then, there wasn't much left to say.

Felicity shook her head, trying to keep her brain in this almost comfortable place they had found and hoping without reason that she could walk away without plunging them into awkwardness again. It seemed pretty unlikely and her mind was drifting to her apartment, her bed, her pillow and now Oliver. "I'm going to go now."

Laurel gave her a nod of agreement before they both turned away. It was the thought of Sara – small, skinned knees, dirt under her finger nails- bringing home even smaller, abandoned, helpless creatures that had Laurel smiling and consenting. And, even Felicity Smoak. She had spent time with Sara; saw behind her leather armor seeing something of that girl too. She turned back around. Felicity hadn't made it to the elevator yet. Laurel jogged after her.

"Felicity?"

She turned without hesitation, "Yeah?"

Laurel's brow creased lightly, wanting to convey something with her determined gaze. "Thank you."

"For what?" Felicity replied innocently, taking a step toward her.

"For," Laurel started with one thing in mind but chose another, worried she might embarrass Felicity. "Being my sister's friend."

_It's nothing._ That's what Felicity wanted to say. But it wasn't nothing. "It's my pleasure."

Laurel smiled at the curiosity before her, and then started back to her apartment, thinking of grocery lists, linens, and house rules.

Felicity got on the elevator smiling as much at her personal victory as the one she achieved for Sin, until she remembered Roy probably no longer just feigning sleep in her back seat. And then her smile grew at the thought of payback and turning the radio to full volume before starting the car.


	7. She's Got You or Sweet Surrender

**A/N: Hello Gentle Viewer. Wanted to extend my thanks for the continued support via follows and reviews. I appreciate them all and several have been quite lovely so keep 'em coming. Also, a little 'making-of' note – I first envisioned this tale as a simple two-shot containing the first chapter and this one which has somehow become chapter seven. I'm not complaining and I hope you aren't either. And, no, this is not the end. Sinceriously yours.**

"You're really not going to tell me?" Oliver called behind him in mild disbelief but his voice traveled far above and below echoing lightly in the aged stone stairwell.

"What happens in Coast City stays in Coast City." Felicity's winded response carried a playful bite though she couldn't see the smile grow on Oliver's face.

"Is that so?"

"Seriously Oliver?! How many more steps is it?" She added exasperated to winded and her words seemed to vibrate endlessly around them.

Unable to resist seeing the look on her face, Oliver ceased climbing and turned around. He wasn't disappointed. Felicity had stopped about ten steps below him. One hand was characteristically on her hip while the other was planted firmly on the cobblestone wall helping her stay upright. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright from the exertion. His heart jumped, beating faster. Not from the exertion. And his jaw twitched slightly before he pressed his lips hard together suppressing the smirk that would surely have gotten him chastised.

"Not many," he replied coolly.

Her head tilted. "You said that a hundred steps ago." Her tone very much indicating she would like to say something else, probably something about him at least having the decency to break a sweat. And she had accused him in the past of have the resting heart rate of a hibernating hedgehog. Whatever that meant.

He closed the distance swiftly, effortlessly, two stairs at a time until he stood next to her on the same step. Her arms fell to her sides as she pivoted to face him, her lashes and glasses sheltering her upward gaze. Could it really only have been three days without her? Because looking at her now, Oliver felt like he was looking at her for the first time in weeks. Roy had turned up at the Cave last night. He gave only the barest details of their trip and said Felicity had fallen asleep almost as soon as they got home. Oliver trained him hard for longer than he meant to, hoping Felicity would show, but she didn't. Not until morning. He watched her tear apart a computer and put it back together. When she picked up pliers to go after another one his invitation of an outing sounded like an order but she came anyway. He couldn't read her in a room with Digg and Roy. Now they were across town in Old Starling making their way up an aging tower. It was the first time they had really been alone together since that night. And just like that night, he felt the trust in her eyes was a mistake. It shouldn't be possible for one look to make him feel – whole. He blinked himself out of reverie.

Now he did let the infamous grin slip out. "It was a standing offer, you know?"

Her lips parted ever so slightly and she sucked in a breath as her pupils quickly expanded and retracted. Then she started back up the stairs without ceremony. "You may not carry me up these stairs." It was her third such refusal. She thought she was taking away his mirth. But it dawned on him now as his eyes were gliding up her bare calves that following her was much more fun.

Thus was he distracted when Felicity whirled unexpectedly, and his eyes had to dart dramatically upward. But he was far too practiced to blush, or so he thought.

They were nearly eye to eye, one step separating them, and she was leaning toward him. Her right hand came to lightly grip his shoulder. Then her foot popped up behind her and she plucked off one sling-backed heel followed by a swapping of hands and shoulders and a similar removal. Each move in blissful slow motion. She shrunk before him with a hum as her overworked feet came to rest on the cool stone. Oliver was bringing his hand up with a mind to rest it on her hip when the loops of her heels were deposited on his index finger and they banged together with a satisfying clack that resonated on her face, something he'd never seen before. His hand was involuntarily at his side again but her hand pressed harder into his shoulder, she was leaning further into him, her eyebrows arched and she looked at him over her glasses.

"I could," she started, her voice low and husky, "tell you what happened in the car." Then her nose scrunched up, the tip of her tongue curling over her top lip before she pulled it back to trap between her teeth and her torso shook with muted giggles. Her hand left his shoulder just as the first vibration reached him and she started again barefoot up the stairs.

Oliver's lungs deflated his mouth gaping, unable to follow immediately, just stupidly staring after her. He wondered if she knew just what she was doing. Mostly recovered, he bounded up behind her. "I think you'd better."

Her shoulders hiccupped with more laughter ahead of him. "Made your sidekick ride in the back. There were some thinly veiled threats against the radio. And the driver. Who doesn't like 80s on 8? He sulked under his red hood for all of ten minutes before I caught him. Eyes closed. Hands up. Seat dancing. Singing every word of Pat Benatar. And Cyndi Lauper. And Belinda Carlisle." Each name was punctuated by her foot on a new step. They were almost at the top now, a visibly old, heavy wooden door in sight and Felicity slowed her pace.

"Roy? Roy Harper?" Oliver took the opportunity to get ahead of her. Unlikely as it sounded, he could picture it, stuck in Felicity's back seat for hours with two headstrong girls – Roy unplugged. The image was priceless. Oliver stopped half turning toward Felicity as she abruptly came to a halt behind him and he braced his shoulder against the door.

"Ooh heaven is a place on earth," Felicity confirmed his suspicion.

He didn't take his eyes off her as he put his weight on one foot, pulled back hardly six inches, and pushed forward. With one small effort the door popped audibly and he held it open for her, his free arm making a chivalrous sweep. And she nodded coyly at him before they both stepped inside.

Felicity's eyes scanned the space. She hadn't paid enough attention to the outside of the building but the room they were now in seemed to cover the entire top of what was just a tall square. It was warmed by the sun, slivers of gold searing through cracks in the shrunken shutters that completely covered the three walls within her view. Tiny dust tornadoes spun in the light as well, freshly unsettled by their entrance. Old crates, broken furniture, and various tarped mounds were present but didn't nearly fill the space. Felicity spied a sad one eyed rocking horse and a legless piano half hidden under musty books and dark cloth.

"There are two stairwells. A trap door. Nearly a two hundred and seventy degree view. City on two sides, bay on the other. Plus a high ground advantage." Oliver had set her shoes on an ancient apple crate and was three quarters of the way through throwing open the shutters of glassless windows. The sun was setting in one. It's reflection seen in the water in another. But Felicity didn't see either. She'd turned back to the wall where they'd entered and was fixated on one thing, pointing in slight indignation waiting for Oliver to look her way, completely uninterested in the tactical attributes of the place.

"What is that?" She'd grown tired of waiting.

Oliver spun then followed her finger to what no one could argue was an elevator, old and industrial but invitingly open. He stepped in front of her hiding it from her view. "It's broken."

Her eyes narrowed at him, unsure if she believed him but she went back to examining the space, quickly coming to the conclusion that she couldn't fit the pieces of this place together to satisfy her growing curiosity. He stood willingly by and she caved. "What is this? Or was it?"

His eyes sparkled at possessing knowledge she didn't. He'd known that all her Queen family digging didn't erase the fact that she hadn't grown up in Staring City and this place had probably escaped her notice, keen as it was. It had no tech, little monetary value, and he'd never been arrested or almost killed there. It was steeped in much older history.

He stood next to her by one window. Below stretched the barely rebuilding city. He didn't recognize at first the thing that filled his lungs and made him feel somehow weightless for a second – hope. "This building has been here since before the official founding of Starling," he started. "It was a convent for almost a hundred years. An orphanage for part of that time as well. Then it was sold, part of a large land parcel that became Dearden Women's College. Eventually it got absorbed into Starling City College which moved Central Campus inland. The building was forgotten but remained a part of the Dearden Trust. And it is officially a historical landmark so it can't ever be torn down."

Felicity had turned toward him at the mention of his mother's maiden name. She carefully watched his face as it continued to survey the city. Moira had come from an old money Starling family. That much Felicity knew but she assumed the Dearden assets had been swallowed up by the ravenous Queen Consolidated decades ago. They were standing in a piece of her history, Oliver's history. She'd never brought up Moira's murder. Oliver never asked her about Vegas. Mothers were neither of their favorite subject.

Oliver's eyes which had been staring away were now looking down into hers. His soft, sad gaze was familiar and needy.

"A convent!" It suddenly hit her. "Oliver Queen brought me to a convent. For nuns. As in 'Get thee to a nunnery'? More Hamlet! From the man who swears up and down he's never studied Shakespeare. But he's going to put me in a convent. Really gives new meaning to 'Absent thee from _Felicity_ a while.' Though, I'm pretty much cloistered already. God knows the only men who've touched me in months are you and Slade Wilson-"

She was quieted by Oliver suddenly, and honestly roughly, grabbing her wrist. He was painfully searching for something in her eyes. The hand that held her wrist released it and came to the side of her face, calloused finger tips just brushing her jawline, thumb ghosting over her cheekbone. She half sighed into it but wouldn't lean into his palm. She thought he'd read too much into her guardedness as she saw him stiffen, muscles contracting along his entire body and frowned lightly up at him. The corner of her eye caught his free hand balled in a fist so tightly she was afraid he'd break his own fingers. He hadn't moved otherwise, completely rigid, he wasn't even breathing. His eyes had gone dark and she could feel a pit a fear open in her stomach before a tingle ran the length of her spine.

"Oliver?" she barely heard her own voice.

He couldn't even take a breath before he spoke, his words so thick they could barely escape his throat but also rasped by a struggle to tramp down his ire. "You said he didn't hurt you."

Felicity thought the rage surrounding Slade had calmed that he had reached some level of peace but Oliver stood before her weaponized, veins and muscles throbbing angrily, and his face going white. Her own response clearly wasn't helping, and the idea that she was somehow responsible for Oliver's current condition overwhelmed her, a tear sliding down her cheek over his hand. Also not helping.

Felicity's tear on his inflamed skin was cool but Oliver still felt like Slade had punched a hole in his chest to trap his heart in his mammoth fist. He took in a long shaking breath getting more Felicity in his lungs than oxygen. "You wouldn't lie to . . . . to protect me?"

"Kind of my job," slipped from her lips before she had even finished the thought and she cursed her vile tongue for not being properly connected to her brain. She couldn't bear to see any more pain cross his face and her head dropped in shame.

So unfalteringly Felicity. He would have laughed, if he wasn't afraid the force would shatter him into jagged pieces. His forehead rested on hers, miles past desperate now, he needed the anchor. He hadn't asked her much about it. The plan had worked, almost too well. She was safe. Slade was locked up. He hadn't let himself think beyond that and this was why. "Felicity-"

He reluctantly lifted his head and brought her face up in both his hands now. When he found her eyes again they apologized, her palm pressed into his chest fingers spread over his heart and it eased the other invisible hand away. "Oliver, I have never lied to you."

He nodded slowly, his eyes glazing over in relief. They seemed to slip from each other's grasp at the same time to stare out the window again. Oliver's elbows rested against the sill and his hands rubbed across his head before interlocking on his neck. This was not the conversation he planned on having today.

Felicity's hip rested against the window frame, one hand on the wall beside, ankles crossed, feet still bare. It was a pretty good view. She noticed the roads she could identify spread out seemingly from the base of the tower; smaller roads ran the opposite way creating the city grid she was familiar with. You could easily get anywhere in the city from this starting point. "So why did you need to show me the great sight lines and quick escape routes in this nunnery?"

"It's not a nunnery." Oliver straightened his stance but didn't look at her. "It's a secondary secondary location." He really had to get better at naming things.

She didn't say anything right away. And he couldn't read her any better here than the Cave or the Foundry before that. _Enigmatic_ – she could keep some emotions so tightly guarded when everything else showed on her face, spilled out in her words, and burned into his brain next the things he wished he could take back. The things that made her unnaturally reserved.

"What about when you want to be alone?"

His hand found hers easily and he laced his fingers firmly through hers.

"I don't want to be alone."


	8. Uptown Girl

FS: _Oliver…_

OQ: _I'm fine._

He wasn't fine. Felicity had come down the stairs of the Arrow cave just in time to see him wincing, slowly easing a dress shirt over a freshly bruised shoulder. She sat, full of purpose, atop her desk crossing her ankles and giving him her sternest stare which got a little sterner as his scraped knuckles and palms fixed the buttons. He turned toward the row of salvaged lockers that were acting as his closet near his flimsy excuse for a bed and then turned back toward her with an Armani tie draped over each hand.

It was a concentrated effort that kept her from rolling her eyes. Instead she wrinkled her nose and shook her head. She watched as he tossed the ties aside, turned down his collar, and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt with all his usual dexterity. Felicity would be lying if she said she wasn't fascinated by those fingers. His entire hands actually. She always thought it would be his hands that gave away his identity. He didn't wear gloves twenty-four/seven after all. And they weren't the hands of some lay about billionaire playboy. Large and rough. Always calloused. Often scraped and bruised. She couldn't see them typing or playing piano with any sort of skill. But they did do far more delicate work, things she had seen and things she had only imagined.

She swallowed hard to dissolve the lump in her throat and pretended to look at something on one of her monitors when she saw him reach for his jacket. The sight of him painfully drawing it over his shoulders would tug on her female sensibilities, as Digg might say. The sight of him pretending it didn't hurt at all would down right infuriate her.

He had lightly cleared his throat and she looked up to see him smiling, ready to go. The smiling had been an increasing habit of late. Why things were suddenly so much more amusing than before was a mystery to her. A tiny hop brought her heels to the floor. And she walked past him, her hands skimming over the back of her thighs, smoothing her skirt. Up the stairs, in the car, and across town with hardly a word. They were getting good at that – the silences and the wordless conversations. But now, as they waited for their lunch appointment, she needed something to keep her from the word vomit that led so many meetings into personal calamity. And she couldn't very well ask him out loud in the restaurant. Typing was her go to.

FS: _Fine? You don't actually know what that word means, do you?_

She could practically hear his jaw tick beside her. She didn't need to hear his voice to comprehend his tone.

OQ: _Felicity. It's nothing._

And she delighted that he couldn't use that voice against her now. This was her domain.

FS: _And did this nothing happen despite Roy or because of Roy?_

His responses were decidedly less rapid than hers. Those fingers seemed downright clumsy now.

OQ: _What's the difference?_

FS: _Who gets yelled at._

That had Oliver stifling a chuckle beside her. She wanted to laugh too. She wanted to join this Oliver. He was quicker to smile or laugh. Reservations that kept him shielded in the past were seemingly forgotten. He filled spaces differently now. There were no board meetings or financier parties where his name alone made rooms sway but there was a sort of shine that radiated off of him. Felicity had caught glimpses of it before and was sure it was simply her own silly infatuation. But it was undeniable now, in meetings with lawyers, grabbing lunch at BBB, just walking down the street. Truly, she couldn't bring herself to enjoy it. Not with her head still so full of other images.

Barely two months had passed. The whirlwind of those two or three days was vividly etched into her mind. How broken and lost Oliver looked after his mother was killed and he was ready to give up. The pain that flashed across his face was the first thing she had seen upon opening her eyes and finding herself in his arms after their van flipped. But it was nothing compared to the guilt that covered his features first in the clock tower, then QC, and finally the mansion. And far before any of that, images of him bleeding under her hands, the sickening feel of it, the sound of bones breaking over the comms, at some point being able to distinguish a punch from a kick and what body part was hit – all the way back to the first time his heart stopped her very first night in the Foundry. How different her life could have been.

She didn't think Oliver had forgotten any of this either, but as well as things seemed now she couldn't pretend that every terrible thing they had witnessed together had been the product of Slade Wilson. Even if it sometime felt that way. There were plenty of other ways for Oliver to get hurt and he undoubtedly would. And she wouldn't allow herself to grow accustom to that.

OQ: _Hey . . . _

Her phone vibrated lightly against her palm. She had paused in her own thoughts and he had seen who knows what dark shadows sweep behind her eyes.

OQ: _Hey. Don't do that. Don't disappear on me. Roy and I got carried away. It was stupid. And it was my fault. And I will be fine._

Had it been that bad? Had she _disappeared_? Did he and Roy have to be stupid boys all the time?

OQ: _Please yell at me._

Felicity didn't particularly feel like indulging him at this point.

FS: _I know it seems like things are different now because we're not running for our lives every second but I need – You still need to be careful._

OQ: _Do you know that guy or something?_

"Don't change the subject Oliver." She abandoned the texting scheme, surprised to find she was already angled toward Oliver. And he, her. Their knees were practically touching.

"I'm serious. That guy. You haven't noticed?" To a casual observer it appeared as though Oliver was looking at her but his eyes didn't meet hers. She'd seen him do it many times. He was looking past her toward a corner booth perhaps. And, for her, there was no missing the fingers of his right hand beginning his tell-tale gesture.

She didn't turn to look behind. Instead, Felicity held her phone up in front of her face pretending to check her make-up while actually using the camera function. Then she tried to examine the picture. No one stood out. "Where?"

"My ten o'clock. He's been staring at you since we came in. You don't know him?" Oliver's leg had started twitching now. He gripped the water glass in front of him, brought it to his lips and took a long sip setting it back down with a little too much force for her liking.

"Oliver-" she started to reach across the table toward him. He wasn't even pretending to look at her now. His eyes were growing darker, his gaze fixed. Someone was getting the Arrow-stare. This was getting oddly out of hand for lunch time.

"This is getting ridiculous. I'm going over there," Oliver stood up quickly, his hand suddenly out of Felicity's reach.

She jumped up in front of him, her heart pounding, her imagination spitting out disastrous scenes faster than she could belay them. They were in a fairly crowded, well respected restaurant in the middle of the afternoon. She couldn't fathom what Oliver was thinking. Her voice came out in a very harsh whisper. "What guy? And, no you're not!"

Felicity grabbed a fistful of his jacket. If he was determined to stalk across the room, she wouldn't make it easy. With her help, he'd make one hell of a spectacle. She didn't think he'd risk it. She was contemplating playing really dirty and latching onto that wounded shoulder when a tall dark form loomed up on the opposite side of the table. A glint of white, followed by a low rumble – Diggle was laughing at them.

The three of them exchanged looks; Felicity was turning quickly crimson while the red slowly retreated down Oliver's neck. Digg clearly enjoyed his afternoon's entertainment. He gave a nod toward the door. "He's here."

Felicity turned to search the vicinity of the door but couldn't see anything beyond a large Diggle-esque guy in a dark suit and shades. As he got closer, Felicity was able to see around him and happily found a familiar face. She almost stepped in front of Oliver to reach him first, but held herself aloft clasping her hands behind her back, momentarily unable to control the grin that spread across her face.

"Walter." Oliver stepped easily into the older man's embrace.

"Oliver, it's good to see you son." Walter was warm and genuine. He didn't hesitate turning from Oliver to place a kiss on Felicity's cheek.

"Mr. Steele – no! Mr. Mayor!" Felicity's hand flew to her mouth. She laughed at her own guffaw for once. And Walter took both her hands in his.

"It's still Walter to you, my dear." Walter's smile never faded as he made his way around the table to Digg giving him a hearty two handed shake. "Mr. Diggle, I'm very glad you could join us."

Now, Felicity saw the second bodyguard bringing up the rear, another imposing looking lug. She didn't miss both Oliver and John sizing them up with unimpressed glances before Walter gave them a nod and they took up stations some distance away. "Shall we?" he said with a gesture to the table and they followed his lead, taking up their seats again but not before Oliver's eyes scanned the room, pausing darkly on the back table reminding Felicity why they had been standing in the first place. But the booth was empty now.

The restaurant was an old favorite of Walter's. It wasn't new. It wasn't in a very posh part of town. The décor was dark wood, dark leather and stained glass. The main attraction was the scotch and the familiarity. And it was a brief reprieve from his new position – Interim Mayor of Starling City. He was successful, incredibly well respected, and an obvious successor to Moira Queen, his work with her campaign widely known. He'd brought both Queen Consolidated and Starling National Bank back from the brink and it was believed he could do the same for the city. He was more than reluctant to take up the mantle. But Walter Steele had never stopped being in love with Moira even when he couldn't quite forgive her. In the end, Felicity knew it was a conversation with Oliver that made the final decision. Walter couldn't bring himself to do anything that might hurt the only family he had, the children he thought of as his own.

They settled in and ordered before Walter brought up the business at hand. "My apologies, this is a bit unconventional, talking to you all at once, but we are old friends. And my time has become something of a commodity." He couldn't have been more pleasant or more welcome an addition to their day. It hadn't even occurred to Felicity until now that it _was_ odd that Digg was sitting with them when, as far as Walter knew, he didn't technically work for Oliver anymore. Felicity was just so use to him being beside them no matter the circumstances. She hadn't let herself yet think about what they would do now with QC out of their reach for the immediate future leaving them all unemployed. But Walter's call had given her hope that her old boss had something up his finely tailored sleeve. She wasn't disappointed.

"I have something of a proposition for each of you which I hope you will take in the spirit which it's offered," Walter began. "Now that things have settled down a bit, I find I have some liberty with my staffing." He turned first to Digg and Felicity thought he might have been a little surprised by it.

"Mr. Diggle, you can see my advisors won't let me go without a security detail. And I know from personal experience that you could do much better in the private sector, but I would feel far more secure with someone I know and trust in the ranks. Leading the ranks, actually, if you're amenable?"

In fact, Digg was fairly surprised by the offer. It was hard to catch him off guard but he looked back at Walter with slightly widened eyes, an open mouth, and no reply at first. "That's quite the bid, sir."

The whole table seemed to sense Diggle's hesitation which caused puzzlement in Felicity and a growing curiosity in Oliver.

Walter was the one to speak, however. "But you're not inclined to accept?"

Digg chuckled at himself before he spoke. "My inclination doesn't always win, sir." Walter laughed at that too leaving Felicity and Oliver out of their joke. The sly grin on Oliver's face a second later told Felicity he had caught on. Something about the women in their lives, Felicity realized with a huff. John had never come back to the subject of him and Lyla. The possibilities ran circles in her brain daily.

"I perfectly understand you, Mr. Diggle." She barely heard Walter's agreement. Lunch had arrived. "Perhaps you could make an answer by the end of the week? I hope you won't play so hard to get Ms. Smoak."

Of course, Walter shifted to her just as she shoveled too much lettuce in her mouth and her startled reaction left balsamic vinegar running down the wrong pipe with a sting. She coughed ungracefully and before the fit continued, Oliver's hand was resting softly on her back and was just as quickly gone when she seemed alright. She barely missed a beat though in her reply. "I don't think I'd make much of a bag man, sir."

Water nearly sprayed from Digg's lips at that, he and Walter making quite the laughing pair. She didn't hear Oliver join in and cast her eyes over her shoulder at him. He was staring back. His blue eyes narrowed just noticeably and one corner of his mouth threatened to break open in a cockeyed smile. She didn't want to look away and she saw rather than heard him sigh. _Disbelief_. But of what?

She was brought to by Walter addressing her once again. "No. Nor do I, my dear. But there is a great deal of computer work to be done. Apparently, the city system was terribly compromised last year. Full of holes. I can think of no one better to patch them up. It wouldn't be a permanent position I'm afraid-"

"No Walter, that's perfect. I'm your girl. For IT. Your IT girl," now she shoved a fork full in her mouth as a sort of mute.

When they were almost finished eating, she excused herself to visit the ladies' room. She was staring aimlessly into the mirror when her phone buzzed through the side pocket of her bag.

OQ: _Walter's wrong. You are very intimidating._

The blonde reflection stared back at her smiling, unwilling to break contact. _Stop it!_ She admonished herself but it only made her smile more defiant. So she ended up walking back to table with half a goofy grin still in place. Her gaze fell on the reason but his face was locked back into its usual serious resolve.

"Walter, I don't even have the qualifications. And I doubt Oliver Queen, Deputy Mayor would instill confidence in the city. No. I need to make my own way this time."

"Very well. Not deputy then. Something else. You said yourself, QC is likely untouchable for months," Walter wasn't giving up easily and Felicity wondered as she took her seat, if this argument had been going since she left.

Oliver only shook his head. It had been one meeting after another of dead ends. "The lawyers can't even figure out who legally owns it. Half the board's fled. And the building's condemned. Isabel left one hell of a mess." It was certainly an understatement. "We'll get it back."

He said it like it was pure fact. Diggle was staring at her across the table and she knew she must be blushing. But it was with pride. This was the Oliver they had been missing, the almost too confident Oliver, the one that charmed the pants off people, the one that made her forget to breath, the one that filled her stomach with nauseating butterflies and made her head foggy.

"About the other matter-" Walter was addressing only Oliver now.

Diggle was making a quiet exit. She was thinking maybe she should do the same. But then, he was the Oliver with his hand on her bare knee, inviting her to stay. His posture became a little tense again.

Walter was taking an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "The deed to Verdant," he said handing it across the table. "In Thea's name."

"Thank you, Walter." Oliver reached to take the paper and Felicity couldn't help her hand from resting over his under the table. "You haven't heard from her?"

"I'm sorry, Oliver."

Oliver waved off the unneeded apology. Felicity watched a sad look pass between the two men and they were quiet for a moment. Oliver turned his palm up to meet hers and he was standing, pulling her up with him. "Thank you, Walter."

He'd come around the table to stand beside them. "I wish you would let me do more Oliver." Walter bent to kiss her cheek again and then shake Oliver's hand. They all started for the door together, Walter's guards falling in line with them.

FS: _corporate experience, 3+ languages, self-motivated, civic minded, loyal, determined, great smile . . . _

"What's this?" Oliver whispered as they snaked their way to the exit looking down at an expansive list.

"Qualifications." Felicity could see Digg waiting to open the door for them, a gust a wind blowing her hair across her face and neck when he did.

Oliver stopped. Walter came to a halt next to him. Digg let the restaurant door close and she could see Oliver and Walter in an exchange through the glass, each looking first serious but then smiling, though she couldn't hear what they said. She thought there was a faint pink creeping into Oliver's cheeks. When she blinked it was gone.

"Walter?" _God this is going to sound stupid, _Oliver thought looking down at the polished floor. But he couldn't get it out of his head. "When you were – did you hear music? When my mother walked into a room or the light hit her just right?"

When he looked up, Walter was smiling, his eye fixed on something in the distance – memory – before he looked back at Oliver. "Ella Fitzgerald." He paused a moment and smiled again. "What do you hear Oliver?"

"Billy Joel."


	9. The Meantime

Oliver let the quick repeating pattern of his shoes hitting asphalt chase most of the thoughts from his mind. He was aware of Roy's feet hitting less than a pace behind him, his breathing slightly labored. They had fallen into respectable routines of training and patrolling, Oliver slowly letting go of the reins that had been so necessary last winter and spring.

Out of spite, Oliver had called him Speedy. It was when Roy first told him he'd had Thea that night and somehow let her go. Oliver knew it stung, and he wanted it to. But the sting quickly faded leaving the original endearment and Oliver let it stick to Roy. And it became a comfort and a promise.

They ran through alleys, over rubble, and a few rooftops in plain clothes racing for miles without intent. Oliver pushed himself and Roy by extension, only Oliver knew they had a destination. Wind, sweat, and adrenaline clearing his head, Oliver had realized it never cleared fully anymore. It had a kind of screensaver now that faded from one image to the next of a single subject. Today, it was one particular image he couldn't shake, or feeling rather, and he didn't want to.

After lunch with Walter yesterday, Felicity had tucked her feet under her on the seat of the Bentley, her cheek on the cool leather, and dozed off as Digg drove them back to the Cave. He'd expected a door to door dissection of the afternoon. She would want to know what she missed, why he wouldn't take Walter's job offer, and what the hell he had been thinking when he almost went off half-Arrowed across the restaurant. But before he could ask her if she was okay, her eyes were closed and her breathing had turned to a gentle hum.

Oliver let the oddness of it evade him when they turned a corner shortly thereafter, her silky skirt and blouse finding no traction on the leather, and her sleeping form slid across the seat to nestle against his side. He brought down his arm which had been stretched across the headrests behind them to enclose her shoulders, her glasses nudging into his chest. He was glad for it when they turned again and that arm kept her from sliding away, happier yet when she made a handhold of his shirt low on his chest, canary yellow finger tips disappearing in the light blue fabric. Another happy accident brought a couple cold digits between buttons and through the placket where he was more than obliged to warm them.

He had thought he might have fallen into a dream himself. She snuggled closer to him, her entire body molded to him covering his left side from shoulder to knee. The beat of his heart acted like a white noise machine. And then all his focus went to her left leg which until then had rested chastely at his outer thigh, but her knee curled up until she had completely covered his quads, her skirt riding up to expose more alabastrine skin. His mouth went dry. He carefully indulged his free hand, letting it rest just below her hip.

She was soft and fair. Somehow she smelled like sunshine and marshmallows. It was easy when he bent his head just a little and pressed a kiss into her hairline, then rested his cheek on top of her head. He had closed his eyes then too. And he didn't have a solid thought again until the car stopped moving and he remembered Diggle had been there with them the whole time. Oliver had smiled to himself because he wasn't ashamed of any second of the last twelve hundred.

Digg simply parked the car and soundlessly slipped out. For a few minutes more Oliver just let the feel of her in his arms sink into his bones. He had the fleeting thought that he hoped he was like memory foam, almost wishing he had made a Felicitous-Slip and said it out loud. She would have thought it was funny. Finally, not without reluctance, he brought his hand from her hip to her jaw running his knuckles across the bone until her eyes opened and he waited for her to jump away. It was a slow, still sleepy motion in which she reclaimed her leg and brought her eyes to his. She didn't move away. Oliver thought he felt her fingers gripping his shirt a little tighter.

"I thought the Bentley felt extra muscle-y."

Oliver's hope solidified as she said the words with no trace of her customary fluster. He was further rewarded when she then buried her face in the crook of his neck for a minute before a whiny groan warmed his skin, resigning herself to wakefulness, and she was back on her side of the car, stretching her legs out in front her as she reached for the door. His arm fell across the seat after her while the rest of him stayed trying to keep her warm indent from vanishing.

"You coming?" Felicity popped her head back in the open door half framed in sun. She waited while he slid across the seat and stepped out to join her only the door between them. "Oh, sorry." Her hand came up to rub vigorously at his lapel which he saw was dusted in her makeup. "Come on Mr. Deputy Mayor. I'll clean your jacket."

"What happened?"

"Yo, Ollie?"

Oliver had lead Roy to a rooftop deep in the Glades. Oliver was looking over the edge while Roy caught his breath behind him and was apparently trying to ask him something. "Huh?"

"What happened yesterday in the restaurant? Remember my job was to sit across the street and watch while you all ate an expensive, five-star meal?" Of course, Roy hadn't been invited to lunch but with Digg inside Oliver thought it was a good opportunity for surveillance training. "But you got all, um, growly before entrees. Never mind. I'll just ask Felicity." It was the only sure way to get an actual answer.

He joined Oliver at the edge now. They were looking down at a rusted auto shop. A rusted auto shop with cracked concrete, busted glass in most of the bay doors, several dismantled clunkers, and an alarming amount of Russian graffiti. Roy knew exactly where they were. He grabbed Oliver above the elbow spinning him away from the garage.

"What are we doing here? If you think I'm going in there sans hoods, you're crazy. Do you know who runs that place? They'll break our – well they'll break my legs! Are you laughing?" Roy had lived in the Glades his whole life and he didn't think there was anything funny about the Russian mob.

But Oliver was practically bent over in a deep belly laugh showing far more teeth than Roy was comfortable with. He backed away a little trying to figure out Oliver's abrupt personality change. It took a minute, but Oliver righted himself and roughly pulled down the color of his t-shirt showing suddenly gun-shy Roy the Russian ink.

"You're sick. That'll never-" Roy leaned toward him seeing the slightly faded, somewhat crude black. "That's real. Shit. Only cap – you're a fucking Bratva captain?" He heard Felicity say something about going to Moscow last year but you couldn't embed yourself with mobsters in three days. He'd heard half an offhand comment about a Russian and a submarine as well but assumed it was a joke. And he'd learned enough from Thea to know Russian was not part of the Queen pedigree. _So, not a joke?_

They were at the edge of the rooftop again, Roy still having no idea why they were there. "Are we busting caps for vodka and rubles now?"

"Former management _departed _unexpectedly. Now they're going legit. You're looking at Queen and Harper," Oliver finally laid it out. It wasn't Fortune 500 but it was his name on a building again.

"Seriously?" Roy had to ask. Oliver had seemingly forgiven his early attitude problems, the Mirakuru debacle, even Thea's disappearance – Roy was still waiting for him to change his mind and decide he wasn't worth the effort.

"Fixing cars can't be much harder than stealing them, Speedy," Oliver said this over his shoulder as he made for a fire escape at the side of the building.

Roy followed. "You with a sense of humor is scary, you know that?" He slid down a rail to catch up. He could give a jab as well as he could take one. "What's the missus gonna think about this?"

He watched amused as Oliver's cheek muscles tightened and his jaw locked holding back something that wasn't a smile. "She's not-" he started tensely then relaxed and something like a smile did break through with a chuckle on the end. "She's not gonna like it."


	10. Hell Below

"Felicity, could we not argue about this anymore tonight?" Oliver hadn't expected to hear her voice come over the comms tonight.

"Sure. We can not argue about it as soon as you stop being so pig-headed and accept Walter's offer." Felicity had been working nights at City Hall with Digg. Refortifying the computer systems required rebooting them several times and it was easier with no one around. Digg was going over building plans and security protocols before putting them into practical use during the day. Neither of them had been to the Cave in almost a week. He hadn't seen her face to face since he told her about his new business plan.

"Well my pig-head is still recovering from the nun chucks," Oliver had just apprehended a suspect that had escaped police custody.

"Good. Maybe that deranged ninja turtle knocked some sense into you." She said she just popped by for her spare tablet. That was almost two hours ago.

"Felicity. Please?" Oliver would let her talk another two hours too, so long as it wasn't about _this_.

She rolled through his pleas. "What are you thinking? What happened to rehabbing the Queen image? Bolstering public opinion and hedging resistance for when you take control of QC again?"

It was true he said he wanted to look respectable and responsible the next time he sat behind that desk but the respectable jobs didn't keep arrows in the quiver let alone buy the family company back. And he meant what he said to Walter. "I was thinking that image shouldn't be made up of handouts from my step-father."

"So you're not okay with implied nepotism but you are okay with implied racketeering?"

He sighed loudly, exasperatedly, in her ear. "My past is checkered enough. I don't think anyone will be surprised." Mob money would be par for the course as far as the public was concerned. What he didn't like was how disappointed she sounded.

"Oliver-" she'd used almost all her logic by now.

"I know Bratva Front Man isn't what you want for me. But it's a lot more legal than this." His voice came from the bottom of the stairs and not her earpiece now. He set his bow and quiver down, pulled off his mask and gloves, and came up beside her where she sat at her desk. "Anatoli is my friend. He has connections we might need. I owe him my life. And John's."

There it was something with which she couldn't possibly argue. And once she turned to look at him her carefully chosen rhetoric would likely be lost. She pulled the comm from her ear and set it down trying to prolong the moment before she had to concede. She slowly swiveled to face him.

Something flashed behind his eyes when he took in her appearance. She couldn't be aware something akin to fire rolled in his stomach as well. "What the hell are you wearing? Take that thing off!"

"What?" It came out of her mouth after a long, disbelieving blink along with a gust of laughter. Felicity pushed back her chair wheeling away from him but making up the distance again when she stood. She quickly glanced down but she knew it wasn't her sheer, pin tuck pleat blouse or her lace trimmed skater skirt he was talking about. It was the red hoodie zipped over the top, grabbed out of necessity when she came down the stairs. "It's fine. Roy doesn't need this one anymore."

"Take it off," Oliver glared at her only mildly aware of what had set him off but seething none the less.

"No." She folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes got impossibly bluer when she was mad at him. Maybe it was his own eyes reflecting off hers.

His stance mimicked hers. "Felicity!" It wasn't logical. It was very much emotional Oliver realized. And there wasn't any way to say without sounding utterly crazy that he didn't want her wearing some other guy's hoodie. More than that it was what Roy wore, until recently, to battle in the streets and it was symbolic of something that he didn't want touching her, not any more than it already had. That was reason enough for him to want it off her, but her passionate resistance sent a wave of heat through him and brought another reason to mind.

"Maybe that nun chuck did knock something loose," her tone lightened and her right hand was rising to test the mark on his temple when something else caught Oliver's attention.

The cuff of the sweatshirt was loose on her wrist, gravity did the work. As her arm rose it slid enough down her forearm to reveal the white medical gauze wrapped around her arm. No one could have seen the tide change in Oliver, still too tense, still gritting his teeth to fight something back, brow crease casting shadows over his eyes and a form of anger hid a feeling that had shifted from his chest to his gut. But it was gentle when he took her hand and turned it palm up trying to see just how much she was hiding. "What's this?"

Felicity was still but her pulse jumped under Oliver's thumb. They both knew she wouldn't lie so her eyes were left momentarily tracing a crack in the floor, buying time. When she looked up at last she pulled her arm away to hide it behind her back, his grasp too light to keep it. And the only response he got was a shrug of apologetic avoidance. Then she took a couple steps back and a slow dance began. He advanced. Another two steps back for her, one stride for him. He locked his eyes on hers, now she couldn't look away. It wasn't anger or fear that she saw but need, the need for her to be real and whole. His arms hung heavy at his sides, always carrying too much weight on his shoulders, but his eyes reached for her with every step. She thought how easy it be to just step forward instead.

The spell was broken as she backed into the cold hard metal of a table in the med bay with a little gasp.

Oliver stopped in front of her, waiting for something, his face still resembling stone. His voice wasn't much better. "Take it off or I will."

"Oliver Queen wants to tear my clothes off." It wasn't what she would have chosen to say but once it was out she didn't get a chance to be embarrassed. It broke the tension. She saw a familiar blank look of shock on Oliver's face as he turned away.

"You have no idea."

Felicity shook her head trying to believe it. It was so much less than a whisper said in the direction of a wall. But he definitely said it causing what she could only describe as a hot flash to flame suddenly through her entire body.

She finally did as he asked, unzipping the sweatshirt, discarding it on the table behind her. Oliver wheeled the supply cart beside her. His eyes took their time scanning each extremity, finally coming back the only damage he could find. Five or six inches of her forearm were wrapped and his stomach lurched when he saw the bright red of oxygenated blood coming through the layers of white.

"Sit down," he half barked but hadn't meant to. "Please," he added much more softly. Felicity braced her hands behind her on the table and no sooner did she push up but her injured arm buckled. Oliver's hands were at her waist before her balance had a chance to suffer. He lifted her swiftly, effortlessly, like a danseur noble lifts a ballerina, and set her delicately on the table barely giving her enough time to register the effect, knowing only that she wanted more.

More. She'd already gotten more. More than she'd thought to expect. More than she'd thought he would ever give. Oliver had been pretty clear last year about his intentions, until he wasn't and absolutely nothing was clear. Every day now he blurred another boundary line. At times it felt like a dare. If that was the case, she didn't trust herself to know when the game was over. And if it wasn't a game?

When her mind cleared and she looked ahead at last, Oliver was all she could see. He completely filled her vision, well mostly his still dark green chest. She hadn't noticed when he stepped in front of her or when her knees parted so he could stand between them, the generous bell of her skirt keeping things decent. She had looked up because she felt his fingers wrapping around her arm, one hand at her wrist the other at her elbow. He was literally holding her at arm's length. It was closer than she thought.

Without a word he started to unravel the gauze, simply concentrating on the task. Each inch brought Felicity closer to another confrontation so she fixed her eyes randomly on the zipper of his jacket. She felt the pressure from the bandage lessening and cool air on her previously mummified skin. Then Oliver's hand tightened around her wrist. A stream of white floated like ribbon to the floor on her periphery.

"Felicity!" He said it under his breath with the inflection of a curse.

She finally looked at her arm. Something like a stab wound started about two inches below her elbow, but it was rounder, jagged. Then it trailed down her arm at less depth about four inches, tapering off. It was bleeding again. And all the way around it was inflamed, puffy and bright pink. Heat pulsated from it. Felicity closed her eyes to get away from the sight and felt a tear slid down her cheek.

"It hurts?" He sounded like himself at last, the edge in his voice dulled with something sweet just under the surface. He knew the answer.

"Yes." It was a thick whimper and a relief to admit what she'd ignored and hidden all day. Her eyes were still closed when Oliver's free hand brushed her cheek, light and quick, gone in a second.

Now she watched as he pulled the supply cart closer with his foot setting her arm on its level top. "You need stitches. And antibiotics." He could give her both. He started opening drawers and taking out the items he would need including two syringes which her eyes fixed on immediately. She needed a distraction. Oliver could give her that too.

He knew he shouldn't.

But it would effectively erase even the idea of needles from her wondrous brain. Knowing her, it would make any coherent thought a thing of myth.

And he still had two emotions threatening to tear his chest open at present. Better to give into this one.

So Oliver put his hand on her knee. His thumb swirled incongruous circles around her knee cap until her eyes met his and he stilled trying to read the widening of her eyes. Like his own just then, they gave nothing away. He let his hand continue slowly up the outside of her thigh, lightly increasing the pressure of his fingertips on her smooth skin. She didn't flinch when he passed easily under the hem of her skirt. He could be to her hip in a second. All he had to do was pull her toward him. His eyes flicked to her parted lips and he saw rather than heard his name on her tongue.

"Ow!"

He was right. She had no idea what his other hand was up to. She hadn't seen the needle full of antibiotics and it found a home in her other thigh before she could protest. The hand up her skirt dragged reluctantly back to view but he made sure his fingers ran the length of her skin again, tortuously light.

"That's not fair," she argued as her face grew pink.

Oliver extracted the needle. "I don't have to play fair. Not when you're sitting in front of me bleeding. And lying." He knew that was a bit unfair. His omissions were never lies to her. But she was deliberately hiding it from him. There was a reason. He wasn't sure how much longer he could wait for her to explain on her own. He already had a hefty catalog of ways she could get hurt stored in his brain and he didn't like any of them. They were both contemplating their options, staring at her open arm.

Taking her wrist again, Oliver picked up the second syringe, Felicity immediately tugging against his hold, biting down on her lower lip, and shaking her head. "Trust me. You want it numb." Her head turned away and he took it for consent. He was done in seconds, the only needle left the one he would use to stitch her arm and she wouldn't feel that. But he took more time with it than he would have on himself, fairly certain his well acquired skill could rival any surgeon. It wasn't a clean cut though, the edges were rough and jagged.

"This didn't happen with Digg and Walter," he appraised. They would have taken her to a doctor. "And you would have told me, if it was just an accident." He hoped she would at least.

She finally spoke. "It was just an accident."

"When?" The wound was healing albeit badly.

"Two days ago."

Oliver tied off the last stitch. "What?"

"Broken rebar," she replied. She was carefully watching his profile now catching the tightening signs of recognition and displeasure. She was also thinking about irony and one of the first conversations she'd ever had with Digg.

He could feel Felicity's eyes on him. "Where?" He knew what she was going to say but he held his breath trying to keep his anger in with it. He'd asked her not to go back there, clearly with good reason.

"The Foundry," Felicity said it anyway. It had to be the whole truth with Oliver.

"You're . . . it's not safe down there." His teeth ground together against his words.

She was genuinely surprised nothing flew across the room. Not because his temper was so legendary but because he had been so restrained thus far and lacked better channels for his emotions. They still came out in uncoordinated lumps at inopportune moments. If he was mad at her, he was hiding it better than ever as he carefully redressed her arm.

"I took Roy with me," she offered.

"Felicity. That doesn't exactly make me feel better at this point." Oliver finished the dressing. One look into Felicity's eyes was all he could take. She was relieved, remorseful, but hadn't told him the whole story yet. He took a couple steps back, his hooded jacket feeling suddenly constrictive. He finally peeled it off and tossed it aside. He caught her running her tongue over her bottom lip before she shyly ducked her head. He'd seen her embarrassed, flustered, mortified even but until a few weeks ago he didn't know she could be shy. It highlighted her youth, her innocence, her vulnerability. It made Oliver more desperate to protect her.

"I didn't want to tell you unless it panned out." She had the same instinct toward him.

Oliver knew exactly how far he was willing to go for that instinct. If she had even a fraction of that – well it wasn't a comforting thought. He could feel the tingle rise under his skin. The need to move, to run, to shoot arrows into anything colliding with the need to pull her into his arms, burrow into the crook of her neck, to feel, see, smell nothing but her until he couldn't remember what lay beyond her. And it all felt like electricity. He took another step back.

"There isn't anything down there worth the risk," Oliver could think of few ways to say it plainer.

"There could have been," her answer was firm. She had gone back to the Foundry because she made a promise to Oliver, one she'd never said aloud but which she meant to keep.

"Explain that," he verged on demanding again.

Her face contorted slightly at the prospect words coming to her lips with force but then stopping before they could be hurled his way. Felicity didn't want to fight. Her eyes welled and she swallowed back the bulk of her emotion, Oliver realizing in an instant her reluctance was because she didn't want to hurt him. It was the same look she wore when she told him Malcolm Merlyn was Thea's father. He didn't know what to expect now.

Felicity took a deep breath. "When your mother – died," she put it as kindly as she could. "You were just gone. For days. We didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to do."

She had no idea how sorry he was for that, cowering away from her and Thea when he should have been stronger.

"I did know that I wasn't about to lose another Queen." The sadness had vanished, replaced by resolution the kind she never seemed to be short of and he always marveled at. He couldn't imagine where it came from.

"So after the funeral, at the mansion, I snuck upstairs and hid about a dozen trackers in Thea's stuff, shoes, jewelry, cell phone. I've been searching for weeks, trying to get a signal on even one of them but they've all been dead or dead ends. There was one left. It was a long shot. I needed something from the Foundry to track it. It didn't work. There was nothing to tell. Which is why I didn't." She had learned to compartmentalize a lot the past couple years but usually they were Oliver's secrets. She didn't like having her own. Felicity instantly felt better.

Oliver did not. "You did this for me." She'd gotten hurt. It didn't matter how minor the injury.

"No." She wouldn't play into his guilt. It was hardly ever founded in reality. "I did this," she raised her arm at him, "because I am a silly clumsy woman who should not wear four inch heels in condemned steel factories." That earned a shake of his head but not quite a laugh. She had lightened the mood.

The look she gave him now was steady but soft. "For you, Oliver," she started and something in her voice when she said his name made his heart falter. "I will find Thea."

She hadn't diffused anything though.

His throat was burning. His chest was pounding. And his feet were moving something more powerful than anger or fear taking over. Cutting the distance in less than a second, bringing her face up to his with both hands, Felicity only seeing he wanted something from her he'd never asked for before. Her fingers were tentative, fluttering to his chest. Her stomach growing cold and empty as her blood rushed south. She could feel the heat of Oliver's mouth almost against hers.

Then one hand trailed down her neck, pushing her away she realized. Both Oliver's hands came to rest just above her knees. His forehead pressed against hers and he exhaled, breathless before it even began.

He couldn't keep leading. He felt sick pulling away from her. He'd closed his eyes. If he looked at her she'd be confused or worse, understanding. There was only one thing he needed her to understand.

"Felicity," she had exasperated him from day one. "I got a lot more than I bargained for. Walking into your office that day. You saw right through me. You see everything. Do you really not see this? It's right in front of you." She'd given him an out that day on the beach that he still didn't understand, unless he'd been wrong. Or she was too scared. "I am right in front of you."

He offered himself up again, hopefully vanquishing any lingering doubts.

Felicity knew. It was a dare. But it wasn't a game.

Her hands clenched his t-shirt. She tilted her chin up until her lips could just brush his, soft and slow. He didn't make a move to respond or even keep her close as she inched away. _Dammit, Oliver! _

She tugged with her good arm, kissing him hard, pulling back so she had just enough space to tease his lips with a flick of her tongue. When she crashed back into him, his hands slid up and his fingers dug into her hips bringing her to the edge of the table. Finding that she needed more leverage, she snaked her arm around his neck and was rewarded by his tongue running over the roof of her mouth. Oliver let one hand travel up her rib cage and around to her back, bringing her even closer so there wasn't even space for air between them. She kissed him until her lungs burned and only then broke away. But his lips quickly found a home on her neck, his stubble leaving a visible trail almost to her clavicle making her skin tingle even more. She tasted like sunshine too.

Felicity finally grabbed him behind both ears and brought his lips back to hers so she could kiss him deeply, sweetly and they sighed into each other before trying to release each other. But Oliver found both his arms wound tightly around her waist and Felicity's knees vise gripped his hips. They were both surprised to find she was about six inches off the table.

"Oh," she smiled against his chest before loosening her grip just enough that he could ease her down.

His hands planted on either side of her, letting the metal cool his palms. His eyes clear blue, he looked at her like he never dared to before. "No more getting hurt. Do you understand?"

Felicity's fingers came up to brush the growing lump at his temple and she titled her head in response. He cocked his head and stared back trying to hold his ground but quickly breaking into a grin.

"So," he bent closer bringing his lips to her jaw, then high on her cheek bone. "Round one is a draw, I guess." Oliver's breath tickled her ear and sent a shiver down her arms. His arms circled low around her waist and brought her to her feet, his shoulders slouching to keep his arms where they were, knees bending a little. "You know you remind me of an assistant I used to have, but I think she was taller." He glanced down at her flat clad feet.

"You wouldn't think it was so funny if your roommate hid half your shoes mister. All I got is ballet flats and flip flops." She was sincerely agitated.

At least Roy did something right. Oliver couldn't help laughing, letting it fade naturally. "Maybe we could-" But his affection for his protégé was quickly drowned out by said protégé's voice booming through the stairwell.

"Fe-lic-i-ty!"

Oliver didn't stop her as she slipped from his arms. He even increased the distance between them. Her hands started to fiddle nervously in front of her.

"Late night, all you can eat waffles and noodles!" Roy was gleeful and half undressed by the time he hit the bottom of the stairs. "Come on. Sin's holding our spot in line, but if she draws blood again, she's banned." He ducked behind a pillar, shedding his leather, leaving Oliver and Felicity to stare at one another each searching for words.

She shrugged at him.

Roy reappeared in street clothes, whipping a set of nun chucks around in his hand. "I'm keeping these." He smiled and was on his way back to the stairs.

Felicity took a step toward Oliver.

"Smoak! Let's go!"

"Go. I'll see you tomorrow," Oliver said as a hint of a mask started to take over his face, his smile not lighting his eyes.

"I have a couple more days' worth of work for Walter," she felt a hollow start in her stomach that stretched to her heart. And apparently her face.

Oliver was in front of her, taking her hand. "We'll figure it out."

Roy was still calling for her on the stairs.

"This is real right? Because this is definitely something my mind could have worked up. It's pretty vivid but-"

Oliver answered by pulling her to his chest. His hand was rough on the back of her neck and then his lips were hard on hers, intentionally unsweet. Definitely not the kind of kiss her mind could make up without a reference. No, it was the kind of kiss that made her want his hands all over her and she could barely make her own respond.

He let her breath. "This is real," he promised.


End file.
